How we met
by Kammyh
Summary: The Roman Empire keeps dragging his daughters around the world to conquer new lands and sedate rebellions. One day, support to his latest plans against Britannia unexpectedly comes from his oldest grandson


**Warnings**: This is basically a close in of England's infancy trauma mentioned in Throughout History chapter 9, but you can read this also as a stand-alone. We are set after the 300 AD but before 367 AD for the _past_ setting, and nowadays for the _present_ setting at the end.

* * *

**How we met**

* * *

It was a beautiful and peaceful day in the Italian peninsula.

The clear blue sky was marred only by few scattered white clouds, and the shining sun warmed the soft green grass that was gracefully weaving to the soft breeze. In the distance, the variegated and vibrant colours of the early spring exposed the different types of cultivations that had just begun to grow. Each and every one of them seemed to try to rival with their neighbour plantation, in order to capture the interest of the few random spectators thanks to their peculiar hue and scent.

Among the living beings that were enjoying the warm weather, there were also some quick and small animals playing tag in small groups, and some lively birds that chirped happily over the branches of the ancient trees surrounding the small rural domus in which the Roman Empire family lived, fairly isolated by the noisy turmoil of the city.

It was only obvious that –at some point- something had to happen to ruin such an idyllic scenery.

"Ooooi! Itaaaliaaaa!" A cheerful female voice called from afar, breaking through the melodic noises of the rural nature like a tip-tap dancer on a stage.

Despite the distance, the call reached quite clearly the ears of another young woman, currently busy hanging the clothes she had just washed on a line placed near one of the biggest and oldest tree of the house. Recognising the voice calling her as familiar, her brown-golden eyes just kept firm on her work as her quick hands moved even faster to finish up what she was doing before having to stop. Italia had no time to finish her work, though, that her sister had already joined her, smiling widely up to her despite the fatigue and her laboured breathing.

"Hi… Italia…" The newcomer offered again, as Italia eventually gave up on her work and turned to stare at her sister, shaking her head in disappointment. The slight shaking of her head and shoulders allowed her long brown hair to move gently behind her shoulders, somehow adding to her disapproving manners.

"Hispania! You really shouldn't run like that…" Italia reprimanded her sister quietly, taking in the appearance of the other woman, who was desperately attempting to get air into her lungs with deep and noisy breaths.

Hispania's short curly brown hair was slightly damp from the exertion and her skin shone lightly with sweat… Something that was only to be expected, considering that she had probably run miles holding in her arms her –apparently- two years old son and a basket full of cereals and fruits.

"Dad called me…" Hispania eventually managed to say as a way of explanation in between her gasps for air, only one of her brown eyes opening to stare up at her sister. "I hoped I could get here… in time…. to stop _them_…"

Italia simply heaved a resigned sigh, before deciding to be proactive and take her nephew from his mother's arms, in order to ease a bit of her sister's fatigue.

"You are late for that, though," She confessed to her sister meekly, before turning her attention to the small child now safe in her arms. "How is it, Spain? Do you want to see your little cousin?"

"Right! You had a kid too!" Hispania yelled enthusiastically at the proposition, straightening up to stare at her sister properly before Spain could even say a word about it. "_I_ want to see him!"

Italia chuckled at her sister –who apparently had found back all her strength at the simple prospective to see the baby nation- and led the way towards the old tree nearby, under which a small cradle had been placed in order to allow the child to enjoy some fresh air underneath the tree shadow.

"Here is my Romano~" Italia introduced her son cheerfully to her sister and nephew, who could both only stare mouth gaping at the new-born nation sleeping soundly.

"How cuteee!" Hispania offered happily for the both of them, taking her chance to bite down on one of the lemons she kept in her basket in order to prevent herself to molest the chubby child to her heart's content. "What'sh shaying dad?" She managed to ask, however.

"Dad is happy," Italia offered kindly, attempting to keep her nephew firm in her arms despite Spain's desperate attempts to reach down to cuddle his sleeping cousin. "I fear he's not enough to save us from our biggest problem, though~"

Both sisters heaved a desperate sigh at the reminder of their current predicament, but the double dejection didn't last much, since Italia was quick staring up resolutely in front of herself, her eyes flaming with sheer determination. "I'll try once again! This time it will work, I'm _certain_ of it!"

"Italia, you know-" Hispania attempted to make her sister to see reason, only to have her firm stare back on her.

"I had my fortune told: I _know_ that it will be a success the next time!"

"Oh, really?" Hispania countered quite doubtful, taking another nonchalant bite of her lemon. "_What_ _did_ they say?"

"That my second child will actually turn out to be dad's favourite…?" Italia offered as an answer, in a less resolute way than she was supposed to.

"_But_?" Her sister encouraged her to go on.

"But that dad will keep having a soft spot for France. Especially when gifting female clothes to his grandsons will be involved..." Italia admitted eventually, sighing hopelessly. "We'll never get out of this~"

Right on cue, an angry and hysterical yell came from inside the house, prompting Hispania to get back in her arms a flabbergasted Spain and Italia to take her own crying child in her arms to quieten him down.

"I'm going to kill you, you blasted old man!" An angry female voice echoed from inside the house, quickly followed by the sound of chairs breaking, vases crashing and metal tinkling.

Both sisters, worried by the sudden noise, rushed inside the house, only to see their father shielding himself behind a flipped table inside the living room, in order not to get the worst out of his younger daughter's fury.

"C'mon Gallia, quieten down already!" The Roman Empire offered reasonably, smiling sheepishly at the situation in which he had found himself.

"I'll calm down only when you're dead, old man! I'm fed up with all this!" The irate province yelled back at her father, her entire figure -from her long blond hair to her short tunic- appearing still perfectly beautiful and pristine despite the devastation surrounding her.

"Gallia, be reasonable. You know that _we_ are the ones to clean up this mess _each_ and _every_ time!" Hispania complained, taking out another lemon from her basket to munch on it while she waited for her sister to stop destroying the house once again.

"Dad, _why_ are you still doing this?" Italia whined instead, shaking her head at her father in quiet disapproval.

"Why wouldn't I? France is so cute dressed with the clothes I gift him!" The Roman Empire offered merrily to his older daughter, blushing lightly at the thought of his blond grandson.

"He is fucking _male_!" Gallia took her chance to complain, unsheathing with purpose the short sword she kept at her side.

"And moreover," The Roman Empire added, still looking at Italia while ignoring Gallia's complains. "Our dear Gallia is too cute when she's enraged~"

Both Hispania and Italia were quick enough to cover their sons' eyes, before their sister threw her sword at their father with enough strength that the lame broke through the wood of the table as if it was butter. The lame graced slightly the Roman Empire's cheek, allowing a thin rivulet of blood to fall down his short trimmed beard.

The Roman Empire –trembling slightly at the rather close call- could only stare sheepishly at the lame of the sword pierced just few inches from his head before laughing embarrassed at the situation. "Maybe this time I went a bit too far~"

"_Maybe_, you say?" Both Hispania and Italia complained at the same time, shaking their heads at the rest of their family.

Italia, then, decided to go helping their father to get up from behind the table, whilst Hispania reached their sister to offer her some fruit in a silent request for a truce.

"Wanna? It's good!" Hispania said cheerfully, as she handed a lemon to the blond nation, who was now staring suspiciously at her.

"You think that you can quieten me down with food?" Gallia protested, despite accepting the offered fruit and bite down on the hard skin of the lemon. "It's sour!" She complained annoyed soon after, though, swallowing the bite nevertheless.

"It still is good, isn't it? Just like you are: sour but good~" Hispania grinned back at her sister, who could only growl and blush in embarrassment at her sister's words, while she kept munching on her lemon and went to retrieve her sword, easily drawing it out from the hard wooden table.

Hispania chuckled at Gallia's reaction, and eventually followed her cheerfully.

"Where's France, by the way?" She took her chance to ask, though, considering that in all that familiar turmoil no one had honestly noticed the child nation.

"He's over there." Gallia grumbled annoyed without offering any kind of indication, her words almost completely muffled by the lemon she was still eating.

_Over there_ wasn't enough of an answer for her two sisters, though, leading to both of them to look vaguely around the devastated dining room without any real chance to notice any sign of their nephew.

"Yeah, isn't he adorable?" The Roman Empire offered happily instead, as he adoringly stared towards the nearby kitchen ignoring Gallia, who was currently staring murderously at him.

In the other room, over the kitchen table, there was in fact the three-years-old looking nation, dressed up in a white roman stola trimmed in golden laces and with a cute golden ribbon tightened behind his back. Uncaring of the attempts at murder happening in the nearby room, he was apparently busying himself with the contents of a mortar way too big for a child of his age.

Even though they were supposed to play the role of the sensible nations of the family and check that the child was all right, both Italia and Hispania couldn't really find in themselves the strength to criticize their father gift choices: France really looked too cute dressed like that for his own wellbeing.

Feeling Gallia's inquisitive but still murderous glare moving on them, however, both sisters got a grip of themselves and went to check on the child nation, who was working happily in the kitchen completely oblivious to his surroundings.

"Hey, love! What are you doing?" Hispania chirped happily, allowing her son to sit on the table not too far from his cousin.

As soon as he noticed France, Spain giggled happily and toddled towards him to hug him tightly from behind.

"'A'ce!" He called him, hoping to get France's attention finally on him.

France let go the pestle he was working with at the sudden attack, but quickly turned towards Spain to jump happily over the other child nation.

"Spain!" He greeted him adoringly.

All the tree sisters smiled at the happy scene, whilst Romano just grasped tighter his mother's stola as he stared down doubtful at the other children.

"You will have the chance to join them when you will get older~" Italia kindly told to her son, tightening her grip on him.

Italia's soft words, however, were enough to allow France to notice also the presence of Romano in the room. He let Spain go, then, and toddled back to the mortar to take a firm hold of the pestle he had been using to offer it to Romano, who however only got even more scared by the sudden gesture and started backing away from the pestle back into his mother's arms.

"You've better give up, France, it looks like he doesn't want to try it~" Italia explained kindly to France as she reassured Romano, only to notice the blond child nation pouting in disappointment and try once again to offer the pestle to his cousin, this time attempting to stand up properly on his two legs to reach further up. France lost his balance, though, and the pestle eventually flew towards a completely panicked Romano.

Italia did her best to shield her son before the pestle could hit them, but eventually her attempt wasn't even needed, since Gallia had been quick enough to grab the pestle before it got even near the two other nations.

"Some people are tasteless, get over it." Gallia coldly reprimanded her son, only to notice him simply staring shocked at Romano's terrified expression. Perceiving France's shock, she sighed deeply and held him in her arms, where the child nation eventually burst in a desperate cry. Romano, who had been on the verge of tears the whole time, hearing his cousin's yells eventually started to cry too, clinging even more to his mother. Spain, left alone amidst all that weeping, in the end joined the other children crying along with them.

"Oh my," Hispania complained, sighing dramatically at the scene as she comforted her son with a kind ruffling of his hair. "What was he doing, by the way? It honestly seems edible food…" She however took her chance to ask to her blond sister, since there wasn't really anything else she could do to quell the kids except acting normal.

"How should I know?" Gallia grumbled annoyed, still attempting to hush her son quiet with no physical success.

Hispania, then, curiously scooped up a bit of the white creamy substance inside the mortar with her finger and tasted it.

"It's flavoured butter!" She concluded, blinking in surprise. "Quite good butter too."

"Is it?" Italia asked, her eyes growing larger in wonder. "Gallia, are you _sure_ that you or dad didn't do it?"

"It's _his_ doing." Gallia confirmed, however, nodding at her son. "Dad and I just handed him over what he asked for."

"While you killed off one another?" Hispania asked suspiciously. "I mean, you two are all yelling and fighting and at a certain point he says _Mama_~_ Grandpa_~_ I need the salt!_ and you two go _Yes of course, my darling_~?"

"How can you say no to him? He is honestly too cute!" The Roman Empire took his chance to point out, as he eventually joined his family after having taken care of his wounds.

"No wonder he never takes your fights seriously…" Hispania sighed disheartened. "Why you called _us_ here, though? I hope it's not just to watch you being killed off by Gallia. You are doing a pretty good job with that even without me and, if you want a public, you have your favourite Italia."

"I wanted to see my grandsons, what's wrong with that?" The Roman Empire whined annoyed at his daughter, his pout turning into a wide grin as he took out from his tunic a small present for Spain.

Seeing the small package, Spain immediately stopped crying and worked on the brown paper covering it to see what was inside. France tuned his crying down to a weak sniffling too, then, as he looked behind himself to see Spain opening his present, despite still clinging tight to his mother.

Soon, a miniature wooden sword was revealed, much to France and Spain surprise. Spain offered then his arms up to his grandfather to be hugged tightly and to attempt to thank the Roman Empire the best he could, something that the older nation was quite keen on allowing him.

While their grandfather was busy fussing over Spain, France did his best to dismount from his mother's embrace, so that he could toddle towards his cousin and have a better look at the sword. Seeing France approaching, Spain quickly let go of the Roman Empire and went to show him his new toy.

Apparently sharing the same idea, not much after they had properly valued the toy -and France had even attempted a few blows to test it- both child nations turned to offer an evil and certainly not reassuring grin to Romano, who could just swallow in dread at the other children's malevolent intentions.

"C'mon sweethearts, play nice!" Italia asked to her nephews, noticing the exchange of glances among the children.

"_Play nice_ the hell!" Gallia took her chance to complain instead, crossing her arms on her chest and pouting annoyed at her father. "_You_ give toys to Spain, sweets to Romano and _female dresses_ to _France_! _Why_!?"

"But I know what I can do to make you forgive me!" The Roman Empire offered with a confident grin, without even attempting to deny his daughter's accusation. "Want to hear it out?"

"NO!" Gallia bit back stubbornly, taking her son in her arms and walking back towards the door to get back to her country.

"C'mon, my lovely Gallia! I'm sure you would like _a nice war_!"

The Roman Empire's desperate attempt to stop his daughter was apparently well received, since the blond province stopped her exit altogether and slightly turned her head towards her father to hear out the full proposal.

"Where."

"Britannia!" The Roman Empire offered merrily, only to bend quickly to the side in order to avoid Gallia's flying sword.

"You blasted old man! They are Celts!"

"C'mon, darling, don't fuss about the details! Besides, it's not even the first time I drag you there~"

"Is France's blood and mine a detail, now?" Gallia yelled back, striding in anger towards her father.

"You are _Romans_, though..." The Roman Empire pointed out matter-of-factly.

"We're _Gauls_!"

"I could ask Hispania, I'm sure she will be delighted." Was the only answer the Roman Empire granted to his daughter's protests in the end.

"Does it mean that I've been called here today only so that you could blackmail Gallia?" Hispania took her chance to complain, sighing deeply at the scene.

On her hand, Gallia just stared with piercing glacial eyes at her father, trembling in rage but not really knowing what to say back to him. Who broke the stalemate was eventually France, who attempted to reach out for his grandfather.

"War! War!" He giggled happily, much to his mother's dismay.

"It looks like I've got my first Gaul recruit!" The Roman Empire noted happily, allowing France to take a firm hold of his index fingers with his tiny hands. "Will you accompany grandpa to Britannia?"

"Like you need to add another nation to your harem!" Gallia spit out her gritted teeth.

"Is not like my attempts to seduce her have been completely unsuccessful during the latest years, no matter if she still is as stubborn as you~" The Roman Empire whined, pouting in displeasure at his daughter before smiling widely once again at his grandson. "She will give up, eventually… I already got most of her lands! I bet even France agrees with me, don't you love?"

"She won't! Besides, you know that you can't hold the fort for much longer over there!" Gallia managed to counter, deeply annoyed at her father. "And about France, don't be an idiot: who would bring a child to war!"

His mother's words shocked France, who let go of his grandfather's fingers to turn and stare up sadly at the other blond nation, who couldn't do much more than to swallow deeply in front of the teary blue eyes of her son.

"France, be reasonable..." She tried to make him see reason, only to notice her son already beginning to sniffle.

"Oh, fuck you all…" Gallia admitted her defeat eventually, much to her son and father's happiness.

"We'll depart tomorrow, then, my lovely Gallia!" The Roman Empire told his daughter as he turned to leave a small caress on the top of Hispania's head before exiting the house. "Thank you for coming, my sweet Hispania, I promise that next war will be only for you!"

"I'm not Gaul, I don't bloody care!" Hispania protested with a bored expression on her face. "Bring Gallia, if she doesn't kill you first!"

The Roman Empire just laughed heartedly at his daughter's complain and simply kept walking until he disappeared outside the house. Hispania, then, could only go and retrieve France from Gallia's arms, just in time to allow her sister to break in two the only surviving sofa inside the room with her bare hands in a fit of rage.

Overall, it had been a quite normal day in the Roman household.

* * *

Eventually, despite Gallia's remonstrations, France too departed together with the Roman troops directed towards Britannia. Luckily for them, they easily survived the first skirmishes with some barbarian intruders, but things began turning a little more difficult as they crossed a thick forest in which they were carefully ambushed.

Gallia thought quickly, then, and carefully managed to hide her son behind a tree before her wing could get involved in the fight at all. She prayed France to listen to her and stay there quiet for once, before rushing back to her father's side to give him the support he needed.

That was the reason why Britannia noticed her from the maze of the tree branches where she was hidden in, only after having already mocked adequately the Roman Empire.

"Gallia? I can't believe that you accepted to be put up against your own blood. Again." The older nation reprimanded her strictly, her wild mane of red hair making her appear like she was floating amidst the flames as she let herself fall from the higher branches of a nearby tree to land right in front of the two Roman countries.

"I didn't have much choice!" Gallia complained annoyed. "And _you_ are a wild beast as always… Are you siding with the Anglo-Saxons now?"

"Glad I can say the same of you, considering your escapade with the Franks." Britannia teased haughtily, glad to notice how her words were irking the Roman Empire even more than subduing Gallia. "Who knows how it will turn out? In a few centuries the numbers might be too much for anyone of us to oppose the subjugation~"

"You should just give up, Britannia, after all I already defeated the Franks and I'm currently defeating the Anglo-Saxons~" The Roman Empire pointed out, attempting to sound optimistic about his chances to win. "Try to reason, you could be a properly Roman province like Gallia!"

"We will stay Gaul, I said! I don't give a fuck about whoever has come or will come in my mother's country!" Gallia countered exasperatedly, unnerved by both her aunt and her father's way to put her in any kind of picture that wasn't living up to her Celtic heritage.

"And you call _me_ a wild beast?" Britannia mocked, unsheathing both the swords she kept at her side before signalling to the other two nations to come forth. "Do you want to try taming me, kids?"

* * *

Left alone behind the tree, France had actually little or no intention to listen to his mother pleas, in particular because he had noticed a _really_ colourful mushroom nearby and he _really_ wanted to investigate if it smelled as delicious as it looked.

After deeming the mushroom poisonous, however, he found himself surrounded by plenty of berries and herbs that _just_ _begged_ to be tasted and their particularities filed away for future reference.

He was so busy exploring the forest that he didn't realise how far from his family he was going, not until he eventually found himself near a river and even the latent fear of having gotten lost completely disappeared from his mind.

What had positively caught his attention was a bundle of blankets that had apparently been left abandoned not too far from the bank of the river. France toddled curiously towards it, then, in order to check if it was something he recognised or that could still be salvaged for something interesting, but he was more than just a bit surprised to realise that inside the bundle of cloths there was a blond baby nation, just about the size of his little cousin Romano.

"Hi, I'm France…?" He offered dubiously, vaguely wondering if the other nation was alive at all. He certainly felt alive, but as far as he knew new-borns were never left alone, no matter if finding their children could turn out problematic even for willing parent nations. Maybe this baby nation's parents had yet to find him… What if he hadn't any?

"Oi! You awake?" France tried again, this time shaking the other child's shoulder with all the strength he could muster.

The flimsy shove was seemingly enough to make the child attempt grumbling some kind of answer and start shivering slightly.

"You cold?" France asked worriedly, toddling to the other side of the bundle of blankets to have a better look at the other child's face. As his blue eyes met the baby's barely opened green ones, France however felt something he couldn't really name freezing him on the spot. What was even stranger was the fact that he couldn't shake away the odd sensation that the other child was feeling just the same.

Not knowing what that sort of double recognition was, however, France just sat down on his heels, staring uncertain at the still trembling new-born in front of him, completely at a loss about what to do. After some time of careful observation passed, though, he finally came to the conclusion that the child's light trembling was nothing more than a desperate attempt to reach the river.

"You thirsty?" France attempted to ask then, and was happy to notice England's trembling stopping in a mute answer.

"I'll get some water for you!" France decided happily, then, toddling quickly towards the river.

After reaching the bank, he washed carefully his hands and then got some water into his cupped hands. With fierce determination, he stood up on his two legs and began striding slowly towards the other child, attempting not to fall or let the liquid slosh away from his fingers. When he had reached the baby, however, he found himself unable to think to a proper way to give him the water. Struggling to remember and copy what he had seen his mother do, he did his best to bend his knees properly to maintain his equilibrium, only to fall full weight on his knees and letting half of the water he had collected fall on the other child's head.

Defeated and humiliated, France was just about to burst in tears when England, instead of crying for the water fallen on him, with an extremely practical attitude simply took a firm grip of one of France's fingers to draw the cupped hands near his mouth and drink what was left. France blushed scarlet at the feeling of the baby's lips touching his fingers, but stood his ground nevertheless, glad that for once his attempts to be kind to someone had been appreciated despite the usual disastrous result.

When there was no more water left and the England looked up at him gabbling something that was probably a vague attempt at thanking him, however, France couldn't stop himself from running away from the other child in pure panic under the confused stare of the baby.

He fell soon after, though, managing to scratch his knee as he landed on the hard ground, only barely covered with short grating grass, and he began sniffling in pain. More than his knee, it was his pride that honestly hurt the most, because he perfectly knew that the reason he had fallen wasn't his young age but his laziness, which had always stopped him to work on his walking properly.

Pain and guilt only mixed with shame, though, as he noticed the child he had left abandoned trembling once again in his desperate attempt to get to the river to quell his thirst.

France knew that he _could_ move around freely on his two legs if he wished to, but he had never had any will to do so, since no one had ever pressured him to show to anyone what he was capable to do. Nothing was required of him, and being quite smart France had plenty of cards to play to get his family attention on him and get any praise he wanted. He had never needed to show anything to anyone… He had honestly never needed anything at all.

On the other hand, this other child nation needed basically everything and there was no one around to get him even the most basic needs and care; therefore, even though he couldn't still even coordinate his arms and legs, he had –willing or not – to find the strength of will to try get what he needed by himself.

And try he was doing, instead of crying or waiting for someone to help him.

France took a deep breath, then, and stood back up on his legs, ignoring the pain in his knee as he resolutely walked towards the river. As he reached the bank, he took only a few moments to wash a bit his injury and then proceeded to once again rinse his hands and attempt bringing some water in his hands to England.

If his family had never asked anything of him, this still didn't mean that he couldn't do something anyway, and since all his family was all right, France would do whatever in his power for his new friend, who instead needed everything.

As he marched towards England, France once again fell on his way back, but now that he had put his mind to it there was no way that he would give up just for that. England, on his hand, could just stare at the older nation quite confused, somewhat surprised that the strange child that he had just met had come back to help him at all.

Eventually, despite the falls and the injured knee, France this time was able to bring to the baby way more water than the first time, something that gave him the strength to satisfactorily get back and start doing the trip once again as soon as England had finished drinking. He kept repeating the trip back and forth, then, each time managing it more successfully than the previous one, until the child made him understand that he had enough, grabbing the hem of France's violet tunic to stop him from getting back to the river.

"Water is good, isn't it?" France then offered cheerfully to the other child, as he laid prone on the ground right in front of England, who could just stare back at him unsure of what the older nation's plans would be right now.

"Wanna try something else that's good?" France asked him eventually, smiling happily to England as a brilliant idea crossed his mind.

Receiving only a curious mumble from the baby, France took it as a yes, and stood up once again to start digging into his satchel until he produced out of it - with extreme satisfaction - a sandwich filled with butter and jam. He was about to ask England if he wanted a bite of it, though, when the confused stare the other nation was giving him quite plainly made him realise that there was no way a child so small could eat something that hard.

"You can't eat bread, though…" France reasoned out aloud, before deciding to take away a small bite of bread and run towards the river to soften it into the water.

He rushed back to the baby, then, dragged him up to a sort of sitting position against a nearby rock, and quite aggressively forced the wet buttered bread into the other child's mouth, despite England's desperate attempts to stop him. As he started to suckle onto the small bite of bread, though, he quietened down considerably realising that it was actually good food.

Seeing that his new friend seemed to have appreciated it, France took then a bigger piece of sandwich and went to soften that too into the river before going back to offer it to England, this time taking care to break it in tiny bites. Not unsurprisingly, the other child nation attempted no resistance at France's feeding him the bread, reassured by France's less violent approach to the matter.

"I did the butter inside!" France blurted out merrily at a certain point, desperately needing to brag about it as he enjoyed the view of his new friend suckling the bread with gusto. "Also the jam! I can't still work out the bread, though… But grandpa is going to teach me!"

The other child watched him rambling happily, quite surprised at his new friend's inability to keep quiet for more than three minutes straight. Before he finished even the last of the bread France was giving him, the older nation had managed to submerge him with so many promises of delicacies he wanted to make England taste that the baby nation was certain a whole lifetime wouldn't be enough to try them all.

If everything else was good like the butter and the jam he had tried, though, England was more than willing to submit to France's cooking experiments. Out of pure friendship and without ulterior motives, of course.

After the feeding break ended, much to England's surprise, France plainly jumped over him to hug him tightly.

"You are soft!" France giggled happily as a way of explanation, brushing his plump cheek against the fabric of his friend's tunic.

"Not the clothes, though. Doesn't it hurt?" He complained annoyed as he untangled from his new friend, taking his chance to steal a glance under the other child tunic only to notice that the baby's legs were scratched lightly for all their length.

"You _did_ slither to here, then…" France acknowledged, fondling the fabric of the child's tunic from over his legs. "As long as you keep still it's fine, but if you move you get hurt!" He reprimanded England as a brilliant idea crossed his mind.

"I've got the solution!" France declared with determination, standing quickly back up on his legs to rummage some more into his satchel.

From there, this time he produced a vial of scented oil, a towel and a white simple tunic. He placed everything to the bank of the river and then run back to his baby friend, using all his strength to hold him firmly in his arms and drag him towards the river.

Not really understanding what France wanted to do, England attempted to get free, only to stop all his movements when he noticed France's expression deeply focussed on the effort of dragging him to the river. When France let him lay on the bank of the river, he stared up confused at him, hoping that the older nation could explain what the hell he was up to this time.

"You are getting a bath!" France announced cheerfully as he stripped himself of his mantle and tunic ending up completely naked in record time. "I'll get you shining clean, so you can use my spare tunic~ It's softer! And way more beautiful than yours~"

The announcement scared England, who promptly began attempting to escape -without much success- his friend's attempts to get him naked as well.

Soon, however, France got rid of England's cheap clothes and dragged his friend together with him into the river.

Soft tears began to form into the corner of England's eyes at the feeling of cold water on his naked skin, but the warmth of France's body next to his made him feel better quite soon. True to his promises, moreover, France had started washing him carefully with the oil he had brought to the shore, allowing him to relax and feel way less the discomfort brought by the freezing water.

When France had deemed his friend clean enough, he dragged him out of the water to dry him properly with the towel. The towel alone felt way softer than anything England had ever had the chance to wear in his extremely short life, making him feel quite unsure that it was all right the fact that France was using it with him.

France, on his hand, was just surprised he could act so nicely without causing damage to the others. To be honest, he had always thought to be a naturally selfish child and that caring for other people was something against his own nature, considering that each and every attempt to be simply nice to anyone pointedly ended in disaster. Not that he had ever felt the need to take care of someone back at home, but if he had failed even kindness so greatly, how could he hope to manage taking care of a younger nation or a weakened family member?

This sort of bond with his new friend had been different since the beginning, though, since the baby had no one taking care of him and for the most basic needs could honestly count only on France at the moment. What would they do if his parents didn't find him in the near future? Could he keep him?

Somehow, the thought made France giggle happily and, as soon as he finally managed to get his new friend into the tunic that was way too big for him, he couldn't stop himself clap his hands at the perfect outcome of his efforts.

England was still staring confused at the tip of his fingers barely popping out from under the long sleeves, however, that France naturally blurted out an adoring "You are cute you know?" making the baby nation blush scarlet from the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

Noticing his new friend's reaction, France could only laugh happily even more as he shortened the distance between them looking a bit conspiratorial.

"Grandpa always tells me that!" He revealed to the younger nation. "You're too cute on your own, but I knew that I could made you even cuter! I'm good, am I not?"

England plainly grimaced at France, who could only laugh more at his friend's offended and quite annoyed expression.

"I would make you everyday cuter, if you were mine~" France sighed out eventually, his gaze for a moment lost in some sort of short-lived daydream.

"What else should we be playing next?" France offered his friend all of sudden, eventually staring back at his friend as he grinned evilly at him. "What about the conquest of the caterpillar!?"

Hearing the word conquest, eventually, all that came out from England's mouth was a desperate and scared cry that echoed throughout Britain.

* * *

Britannia had just fend off the last blast of the Roman Empire with the sword she was handing with her right hand and was ready to do the same to Gallia's blow using the one she held with her left, when a loud call was heard from deep inside the forest. All the three nations stopped dead their movements as if frozen on the spot, as they waited for a red headed child nation to reach them running like a desperate man.

"Mama! We lost England!" Scotland cried desperately, barely stopping to take in the weird fighting scene frozen in front of him.

"Wait, what does it mean you have _lost_ him? You weren't even _in charge_ of him!" Britannia countered, frowning at her child but otherwise still not moving from her position at all. "Besides, you should be safe beyond the wall!"

"I thought England might be hungry and I went where he usually is, but he's not there anymore!" Scotland countered however, ignoring completely his mother's remonstrations as he stared distraught up at his mother. "My brother…"

"Oh, my…" She acknowledged her older child's worry, eventually sheathing her swords back to their sheaths. "I guess we must find him, don't we? He is honestly too young…"

"What kind of parent leaves her child unsupervised?" The Roman Empire took his chance to point out, rising a dubious eyebrow at his red headed enemy. Hearing her father's comment, however, Gallia felt cold shivers running down her spine and she rushed to the tree behind which she had left France. Unsurprisingly, the child nation wasn't there anymore.

"Fuck it, France disappeared too!"

"And _you_ wanted to teach me how to deal with _my_ children?" Britannia wondered amused, smirking back at her niece.

"I didn't _abandon_ him! I told him not to move while we were fighting!" Gallia countered annoyed, searching around the tree for any trace her son might have left behind. Damn him, she was honestly going to punish him this time, no matter how she usually ended up unable to put her disciplinary plans into action.

Right on cue, however, another high-pitched scream echoed inside the forest.

"England!" Scotland yelled as soon as he recognised the voice, rushing quickly in front of all the older nations to get as quickly as he could to his youngest brother. Britannia just sighed at the scene, but followed her son anyway, hastily joined by the Roman Empire and Gallia, both hoping to find also France along with England since, if there was something they could bet on, was on their child nation's ability to end up in tons of problems.

Something that was eventually confirmed as true, soon after they had reached the nearby river and they saw the two child nations playing and laughing together.

"England!" Scotland noticed relieved, falling boneless on the soft grass in sheer relief to see his brother still in one piece.

"France, what the hell are you doing here!?" Gallia yelled at her son instead, successfully making France stop tickling England to stare up properly at her.

"Mama! I conquered the caterpillar!" France cheered happily, one of his hands resting securely over England's chest to pretend keeping him down as he waved hello to his mother with the other.

"Ca… terpillar?" Gallia repeated confused, staring down at the '_subjugated'_ baby, who could actually barely breathe properly from how much he was laughing. He honestly had some rather impressive eyebrows, but certainly, he was of an age in which he could not toddle properly, much less walk.

"Oi Britannia, how old is your kid?" She asked eventually, staring suspiciously at the other female nation.

"A few months…. I think" Was Britannia's quite vague answer.

"You _think_?" Gallia countered annoyed, receiving only a shake of shoulders for her trouble from the red haired nation.

"If you have problems watching over your kids I could help out, you know Britannia darling?" The Roman Empire was quick to offer, noticing how the situation was evolving. "Why don't we solve these ongoing rebellions with a wedding? I could take care of your children for you! I'm good with children, you know?"

"The hell you will! You will kill them off at the first given chance, and then have your spawn rule over my country!" Britannia bit back angrily, not considering the Roman Empire's proposition even for a split second. "Not even in your faintest dreams!"

"C'mon Britannia, don't be so cold with mee…" The Roman Empire tried once again to seduce the strong willed nation, only to end up starting a heated quarrel with the redhead.

Seeing that the adults were once again busy discussing a different topic and that Scotland had no intention to join, France then resumed tickling England, all the while calling him by his name now that he had finally learned how his new friend was called.

The scene was so cute that eventually even the Roman Empire stopped pleading and Britannia stopped yelling. Britannia and Gallia, then, took their chance to smile furtively at one another and went to retrieve their kids, even though no one of them had enough strength of will to tear them apart seeing how well they got together.

"You know, Britannia darling~?" The Roman Empire attempted to propose eventually, seeing the two female nations approaching their children. "If you don't want to marry me because you don't trust me, France could just marry England, can't he?"

Hearing the apparently insane proposition, the blood froze up inside the veins of both female nations and they quickly dragged their sons into their arms to march in opposite directions, much to Scotland and the Roman Empire's shock.

"You're alone in this, old man!" Gallia yelled at her father, while Britannia just screamed back, "I want you out of my bloody borders!"

Not really understanding what was happening, both France and England could just burst in tears.

"Let me gooo! Englaaaand!" France yelled desperately, attempting to get free from his mother's embrace. "England is miiinee! Leave him to meee!"

England, on his end, could just tend his arm towards France, in a vain attempt to reach him as he tried desperately to put in words what he felt too.

Unfortunately, the only thing that got out from his mouth could only be an inconsolable cry, soon matched by France's equally distraught one.

* * *

England opened tiredly his eyes and all he could see in front of himself through the strands of his too long fringe was the white roof above him. He moved his hair away from his eyes then, and turned to his side, only to register the presence of his deeply asleep husband next to him.

Despite appearing still unconscious of his surroundings, England could hear France mutter faintly the word "_mine_". He wasn't trashing around, though, so he certainly wasn't having a nightmare, still his eyebrows were knitted in a sad and distressed frown that England wasn't really willing to ignore. Deciding on '_better safe than sorry_' then, he kissed France gently, first on his forehead and after that lightly on his lips, hoping to wake his lover up slowly and nicely enough.

"Oi, France." He called softly before kissing him once again. "France?"

Eventually, France's blue eyes opened tiredly, right before he yawned noisily in front of England's worried stare.

"_Angleterre_? What's up?" France managed to ask as soon as he reacquainted himself with his surroundings.

"You were talking in your sleep," England offered kindly, deciding to snuggle into France's arms to comfort both of them. "Care to tell what were you dreaming about?"

"Was I?" France asked dubiously, attempting to remember what the hell he had been dreaming about to have worried even England. "Oh! I remembered when we first met~" He realised happily in the end.

"When we met?" England asked back, rising an enquiring eyebrow to his lover. "It was something like two thousand years ago…"

"Yeah, but it still was the first time I saw your beautiful eyes, _mon cher_~" France flirted shamelessly, tightening his arms around England in warm affection. "I remember that I dreamt about them for many nights after mum dragged me back home~"

"If I recall correctly, you came back soon after on your own, though." England reprimanded his lover. "You eventually made even the Roman Empire worry about you becoming a barbaric Celt…"

"Yeah, well, I always had the feeling that when we met you had wanted to tell me something, and I was curious about it…" France admitted, blushing lightly. "But then after seeing you I always ended up forgetting to ask you until, when you finally learned to talk, we were already steady on plain insults~"

"It should tell you something that we were insulting one another even before I learned how to speak." England couldn't stop himself to point out, wondering what he had done wrong to fall in love with an idiot like his husband was.

"Yep, it tells me that you are annoying, _cher_~" France offered adoringly to his lover, however, stealing a hard kiss from his lips. "Despite that, I sometimes still wonder what you wanted to tell me back then, you know?"

"You could always ask me," England offered averting his eyes in embarrassment from his lover. "I can speak now, do you realise that?"

"Would you really tell me?" France asked back, honestly surprised at the offer. "I mean, you still remember it? You were _really_ young at the time…"

"B- but it's really something that I've been telling you for a long time…" England muttered, his cheeks turning slightly red. "It's not something mysterious..."

"What was it, then?" France insisted, doing his best to catch a glimpse of England's eyes.

"It was… Well… _Thanks for taking care of me, France_…" England admitted eventually, blushing even redder as he hid his face even more into his husband's plain chest.

"How cute~" France cooed, embracing England adoringly. "You're welcome, then, _mon cher_~"

"Doesn't it turn you off?" England asked curiously, peeking up from his secure hiding, surprised by France's reaction. "It's not really much…"

"It's all that I would have liked to hear at the time~" France admitted with a kind smile. "If I'd known, I would have probably fallen for you even sooner~"

"You _are_ weird."

"But you still like me, _non_?"

England just swallowed and blushed more, unable to deny France's statement.

"You know, I've been wondering…" France continued, moving seductively over England, his eyes shining in mischief. "We could attempt to redo at least the time I bathed you, it has been a while since we bathed together~"

"Because you still use weirdly scented oils, several different kind of shampoos, too many creams and creepy shower stuff!" England eventually found enough voice to answer back to his lover, somewhat feeling harassed by such a proposal. "It turns me mental how many things you use to have a single bath! Besides, because of all those mixed smells I usually flip over within the first minute together with you in the bathtub!"

"I wouldn't mind if you fainted, you know? I could do all the kinds of weird stuff to you while I clean you and you wouldn't even have a chance to pretend you don't even want to try~" France teased, getting out of the bed to reach England at his side and put in action the plan he was describing. "The prospect really turns me on, since you end up liking everything we do anyway in the end~"

"What doesn't turn you on, pray tell!?" England yelled back at his lover, backing towards the headboard to put more space between himself and his husband. "Don't you ever dare! I don't trust you!"

"C'mon, like I would honestly ever do something you don't want to!" France protested, offering an annoyed and offended pout to England. "Besides, you were completely unable to defend yourself when we met and yet I've proven to you that I'm an honest man~"

"Too bad that after that time many years followed to prove me _just the opposite_!" England countered quickly, glaring at his lover to keep up the banter despite realising that France was honestly right. "B- besides, back then you were an innocent child yourself!"

"First, at the moment you are not the same innocent and defenceless child that you were back then," France pointed out, throwing the blanket away to finally get a struggling England tight into his arms. "And second, _I_'ve _never_ been an innocent child, not even back then~"

That said, France just laughed loudly at England's loss of words as he happily brought England towards the bathroom bridal style.

"You should be thankful that I've always stuck with you no matter what we do to one another." France took his chance to add however.

"Well, I am…" England admitted, looking visibly subdued and eventually stopping any resistance he was still attempting in his husband's arms. "That's why I didn't think that telling you what I thought back then was any news…"

"I stuck with you after you didn't accept the euro-" France started to remind England, in order to prove his point.

"It's not that I didn't try it, but-" England stopped France, only to be interrupted himself.

"…I stuck with you after you followed America in his war against the unknown-"

"Well, but-" England tried again, but to no avail.

"…I stuck with you after Brexit-"

"It's not even final, bloody hell!" England protested with much more strength this time, finally managing to get France to stop right on the threshold of the bathroom to stare back at him properly.

"Am I _not_ going to need my passport to come here anytime in the foreseeable future, then?" France asked, only barely hiding his annoyance at the latest news of his husband's sovereign.

"Well, as I said, it's not really final, we have elections in about a week, and Europe has not really ratified that…" England attempted to defend himself before changing drastically approach to the matter. "Besides, it didn't work for you, why should it work for me now?"

"You're Brexiting." France pointed out acidly, before resuming his walk inside the bathroom only to sit on the edge of the bathtub and open the water, so that it could turn warm enough. England obviously was still held close into his embrace, even though now he looked more willingly sitting on France's tights.

"Not that it will bother me in the long run~" France felt however the need to add in a quite happy tone of voice.

The much lighter tenor of France's last statement, however, managed to worry England more than just a bit.

"Wait, you said that our _friendly and cooperative relationships would continue_!" England protested heatedly, turning to stare shocked at his husband. "You will not declare war against me, will you?"

"Declaring war against you is not the only way for me not to have to bother with passports~" France pointed out merrily, his honestly happy smile scaring England to no end. "You could annex me and get me out of Europe; I could annex you and drag you back to Europe; we could merge… This is something that would really be fun to see, since it's something that's going to lead to the rest of the world having a heart attack at the news! We would end up being the only surviving nations in the world~"

"Or I could just Frexit after you Brexit!" France kept on rambling, contributing heavily to the rise of England's panic and anxiety. "That way you and I can finally decide how administer our relationship on our own like the old times… Wouldn't you like having our bilateral foreign policies left once again only to me and you alone?"

Deeply conflicted whether he was more interested or scared by the prospect, England eventually felt his voice completely unable to get out his throat, as the whole list of all the Anglo-French disputes happened in the their two millennia together passed in front of his eyes like those were his last few moments left before dying.

Despite his best efforts to answer back to France, eventually all that came out from England's mouth was a desperate and scared cry that echoed throughout Great Britain.

* * *

**The end**


End file.
